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I checked the shirt every few minutes, but it seemed to take forever to get the bleeding stopped. Once that happened, I realized that I needed to get his back pack off him. "You with me, Tom?"
Nothing. He was breathing deeply but didn't wake up. I cut through the shoulder straps of his pack and pulled it out from beneath him, cushioning his head with my arm until I got my sleeping bag under it. I went through his pack to see what clothes we had to work with. We both packed minimal gear. Tom had an extra set of thermal underwear, an extra thermal shirt, and a button up fleece.
I pulled back the sleeping bag, cleaned and dressed the wound and, as carefully as possible, removed Tom's blood-soaked shirts. It was snowing harder. I had to keep brushing the snow off Tom's face. He moaned while I redressed him. There was no way I could get him into the thermal underwear and shirt without hurting him. I cut both up the middle fished his arms through the sleeves and used duct tape to hold the front of each shirt together. I wiped as much blood as possible from his jacket and taped over the bullet hole.
"Tom, wake up. I need you to swallow some pills." He didn't answer. "I smacked his face gently with my hand. "Tom, wake up. You need medicine."
Finally, he looked at me through blurry eyes, I used my arm to raise his head, and he swallowed the pain pills. I lowered his head back down and pulled the sleeping bag over his face. I scanned the area again and realized it had gotten dark and was snowing heavily. Fudge! Chance had said the forecast included a snow storm that should move in while we were at the observation site and move out before we were headed back to base camp. Our schedule had changed, so we were caught out here with few options.
With the bleeding stopped, I didn't think Tom's wound was life threatening. If he regained consciousness, he might be OK to walk on his own. I remembered the radio. I fished in Tom's pack and found it. Chance had shown me how to use it, but it was easier when my hands weren't frozen from being exposed to the cold while I took care of Tom. I turn it on and called Chance. All I heard was static. I tried again, nothing. Just in case it was working better on their end, I said, "Tom's been shot. I don't think it's life threatening. Will try to make it back after Tom has some rest."
I looked around the area where we were. There wasn't anything that screamed defensible shelter. A few months ago, I wouldn't have known what that was, now I knew just how badly I wanted to find it. I figured I might be able to drag Tom a short way. There was a fir tree not far away—the kind with branches that hang low to the ground. There wasn't room to set up the tent, and I would have been too scared to seal myself inside it anyway. I pulled out the ground cloth and laid it beneath the branches. I put our sleeping pads on top and carried both our packs over and leaned them against the trunk of the tree.
"Tom, I'm gonna try to pull you to a better spot so you can rest. I'll try not to hurt you." I put my hands under his armpits and tugged in the direction of our shelter. Tom was a big guy, but I was able to move him a little. I think the snow actually made it easier. I settled him on his sleeping pad and tucked his sleeping bag around him. I pulled out all the extra clothes from my pack, I stripped down to my thermals and put on all the extra layers I had. I knew that sitting still in the snow was going to make me colder.
I pulled my sleeping bag around me, laid the rifle across my lap, and tried the radio every half hour. Tom woke up briefly when the pain pills wore off. I gave him more and he settled back into a deep sleep. I hoped that by morning, the snow would ease, and Tom would be able to walk.